


Lights

by paperstorm



Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Christmas Party, Domestic Avengers, M/M, POV Outsider, POV Thor (Marvel), Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: Part 8 of the 12 Days of Stucky Christmas series. Steve is a bit gloomy at the Avengers Christmas party.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559701
Comments: 25
Kudos: 90





	Lights

_2013_  
  
“White Russian?” Tony asks, standing behind his bar and holding up a clear glass bottle of vodka and wriggling his eyebrows.  
  
Natasha rolls her eyes. “Hilarious.”  
  
“Hey, I could’ve offered you a Dirty White Russian, but I figured that would be rude.”  
  
“Not exactly in keeping with the Christmas spirit.” Natasha leans forward, resting her elbows on the bar. “I don’t like coffee liqueur anyway, make me a 7 and 7.”  
  
“Coming right up.” Tony winks at her, and turns away to locate the proper bottles.  
  
Natasha’s green eyes roll again, but she’s smiling. On her other side, Dr. Banner sips at a bottle of ale. To Thor’s left, Clint has amber colored whiskey in a short glass, and he swirls it around in a counter-clockwise circle. Lively Christmas music fills the space around them, brassy instruments and jazzy arrangements. Thor is still confused about this holiday, even though it has been explained to him. They have days of feasts and merriment on Asgard, but they are in celebration of real moments from their history, not of a pretend man in a red suit. Nevertheless, he enjoys his new earthly cohorts, so he partakes in the festivities.  
  
“Here ya go, Princess.” Tony sets a tall, slim glass onto the bar in front of Natasha.  
  
She fishes an ice cube out from the bubbly liquid and flicks it at him. “Call me that again and you’ll get something a lot worse than a lump of coal in your stocking.”  
  
“Don’t test her,” Clint advises.  
  
Tony holds his hands up, surrendering. “I believe it.”  
  
“Merry Christmas Eve, folks.” Dr. Banner holds up his bottle, and the rest of them lean in close enough to clink their own glasses together.  
  
It’s only then, when he’s faced with five glasses meeting in a toast, that Thor notices someone is missing. He frowns, and looks around them.  
  
Tony notices at the same time. “Where’s Capsicle?”  
  
Thor spots him first, through the wall of windows on the other side of the cavernous room. Steve is outside on the balcony, shoulders hunched over as he leans on the railing. It’s snowing around him, the flakes drifting gently down and the city lights twinkling beyond him.  
  
“Did he say anything, to anybody?” Natasha enquires. Her forehead is pinched into a frown, drawing the same conclusion Thor had – that something must have happened, for Steve to be off on his own while the rest of them are celebrating.  
  
A round of shaking heads, and murmured denials. Thor stands. “I’ll see if he wants to join us.”  
  
No one objects, so he walks around the various couches and tables and pulls open the glass door. A frigid blast of wind greets him, much colder than he was expecting, so before he joins Steve on the balcony, Thor picks up two blankets from the back of two sofa chairs. He wraps the blue one around his own shoulders, and takes the other for Steve.  
  
Steve looks up as Thor approaches, snow crunching loudly underneath his feet. Thor holds the green blanket out, offering it, and Steve offers him a small smile in return, and takes it from him. He unfolds it, draping it around his own shoulders.  
  
Thor stands next to him, mirroring his position with his forearms resting on the cold metal railing. “Beautiful,” he says, nodding out at the city.  
  
“Yeah. It is.”  
  
“Reminds me of Asgard,” Thor tells him. “All the lights.”  
  
“Do you miss it?”  
  
“Very much.” Thor nods solemnly. Even though they don’t partake in this holiday where he’s from, the existence of a time of celebration does make him miss his home even more than he usually does. Although, he has come to think of this place as his second home, and this group of people as his second family.  
  
Steve doesn’t answer. He gazes out into the darkness and the sea of lights, a barely-hidden frown turning his handsome face to melancholy.  
  
“Would you like to talk about it?”  
  
Steve’s frown deepens, turning to face Thor. “Talk about what?”  
  
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you.”  
  
Steve’s mouth opens, perhaps about to argue that nothing is bothering him, but then changes his mind and closes it again. He exhales, and turns back away, shoulders drooping a little further. “That obvious, huh?”  
  
“You’re standing out here, alone in the snow, while the rest of us are inside celebrating what I’m to understand is the most important annual event on your planet,” Thor reasons.  
  
Steve laughs softly. “Yeah. I guess that was a giveaway.”  
  
“You aren’t obligated to tell me. Or to be in the mood to celebrate with us. But I’ve been told I am a decent listener, when I put my mind to it.”  
  
It is a moment before Steve speaks. Below them, the buzz of the city becomes the soundtrack to Steve’s silence. The squeal of tires, the honking of impatient yellow taxis, sirens in the distance. Finally, Steve clears his throat, and says, “I guess I miss home, too. Even though technically I’m still there. I grew up just across the river.”  
  
“But not in this century,” Thor finishes, understanding what he means.  
  
“There was, um. My … my best friend. He really loved Christmas, so. I always miss him, but it’s even harder at this time of year.”  
  
“What became of him?”  
  
“He died.” Steve picks absently at a hangnail on his left hand, staring intently at it. “During the war. Not too long before I did.”  
  
“Ah.” Thor nods sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that.”  
  
“Yeah. Thanks.”  
  
“Tell me about him.”  
  
“I think you would’ve liked him. He was brave, and caring, was always looking out for me. We met when we were six. Were best friends until the day I lost him. We even, uh. Lived together, for a while. Before the war.”  
  
The way he shifts, moving his weight from foot to foot, as if he is uncomfortable, is confusing, at first. But then Thor notices the blush on Steve’s cheeks, and the way his gaze remains averted, and wonders if maybe he understands.  
  
He doesn’t want to make it worse. This man is his friend. He also doesn’t want to leave it lying where it is now, because Steve deserves to talk about it, if he wants to. He deserves to know that Thor cares enough to listen to him.  
  
“You loved him?” Thor asks.  
  
Steve swallows, and his throat moves with it. He looks over, just briefly, just for long enough to make eye contact and then looks back down at his hands. Whatever he was searching for on Thor’s face, he seems to have found it, because he nods again. “I did. Or, do, I guess. I don’t know. How long can someone be dead before you have to talk about it in past tense?”  
  
“I don’t believe love dies because a heart stops beating.”  
  
“I don’t know what things are like on Asgard, but here … at least, back then, it wasn’t okay. It wasn’t really allowed, for us to be …”  
  
“Because you were both men?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“That’s awful.”  
  
“We had to hide it. Pretend we were just friends, roommates. We couldn’t tell anyone, not even our families.”  
  
“Awful,” Thor repeats. He reaches out, sliding a hand over Steve’s shoulder and squeezing it. “Love should never have to be hidden away, or lied about.”  
  
“I just miss him.” Steve shrugs. “You know? Especially at Christmas. I miss … being loved.”  
  
“Of course. I understand it isn’t quite the same, but you are loved, Steve. And valued. By us.”  
  
Steve’s lips curve into a small smile. “I know.”  
  
“Do the others know?”  
  
Steve shakes his head. “Don’t tell them, alright?”  
  
“You have my word.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Letting his hand fall off Steve’s shoulder, Thor tightens the blanket around his shoulders and then rests his wrists back on the bannister. “What was his name?”  
  
“James. We called him Bucky.”  
  
Thor straightens his back, and calls out into the expanse of the night sky, “dear Bucky, if you are listening from wherever earthly souls reside when they leave this plane, we wish you a very merry Christmas. And I promise we are taking good care of your Steve. Not as good as you did, I’m sure, but we’re doing our very best.”  
  
Steve laughs, the forlorn aura finally slipping off him. He bumps his shoulder against Thor’s. Thor bumps back. When he suggests they rejoin the party, Steve doesn’t protest. He follows Thor back inside, looking considerably more amicable than he had before. Thor shakes his head at four pairs of eyes that wordlessly inquire of him if everything is alright, as they cross the room back toward the bar. Everything is not perfectly alright, but Steve is smiling. So it’s good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/) [or twitter](https://twitter.com/turningthedials) if you want!


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